


Be Careful, It's My Heart

by ThayerKerbasy



Series: Something In Between [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Afterlife, Canon Compliant, Food Porn, M/M, Minor Meg/OFC, Post-Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29564502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThayerKerbasy/pseuds/ThayerKerbasy
Summary: It's Valentine's Day at the Sleepy Hollow Motel, and Crowley needs to know why.
Relationships: Balthazar/Crowley (Supernatural)
Series: Something In Between [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1190296
Comments: 26
Kudos: 9
Collections: SPNColdestHits





	Be Careful, It's My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> While I suppose it's technically possible to enjoy this fic without reading the rest, I don't imagine you'll understand much of what's going on.

Crowley would never get used to being woken by the alarm clock in his motel room. For one, he hadn’t had the mortal need for sleep in three hundred years, and the experience of being jolted awake was one he’d long forgotten. More importantly, however, he unplugged his alarm clock every night — not that there was night at the Sleepy Hollow Motel, but he liked to turn off the lights and pretend when he was ready to sleep — so it shouldn’t have been able to wake him up at all. The bloody thing woke him up every morning, digits flashing 12:00 — because of course, time was non-existent — and playing a different song each day. 

The alarm clock had appeared in his room sometime before the incident with the bees. Crowley was torn. He wanted to resent the thing for robbing him of the sleep he’d missed out on for hundreds of years, but it woke him to visit Balthazar. If he was honest with himself, Balthazar was the best part of his afterlife, and probably the only reason he hadn’t yet succumbed to the Empty’s siren song.

_Be careful, it’s my heart._

_It’s not my watch you’re holding, it's my heart_

Compromising, Crowley lay in bed with his eyes closed until Bing Crosby finished singing before hauling himself out of bed. He’d been subjected to a broad range of music since the arrival of the alarm clock, but that was quite possibly the best of the bunch, and one he’d happily listened to back when it was first popular. The 1940s had some issues, but he did enjoy their music.

Though he was usually beyond caring about what he wore, Crowley nonetheless slammed the drawer shut again when he saw white skinny jeans and a sparkly pink glittery t-shirt. He’d spend the day in his robe again before wearing those. Fortunately, the closet held a perfectly wonderful alternative. He hurried through his shower just so he could try it on and make sure it fit properly.

He shouldn’t have worried. Everything that appeared in his room always fit as if it had been tailored specifically for him — which, he supposed, it had. Still, when he looked in the mirror and saw the fellow in the glossy red satin three piece suit, he couldn’t help but admire his reflection. The black dress shirt and black leather wingtip shoes were the perfect contrast, and the sleek grey tie held it all together. He smirked at his reflection as he adjusted his pocket square. It had been too long since he’d worn a proper suit.

He would later blame his lack of pattern recognition on the fact that he’d just woken up. In all honesty, he’d grown somewhat immune to the surprises his afterlife tossed at him, choosing instead to accept whatever oddities came with the day. It was certainly better than the alternative. All the same, when he stepped out his front door, he was blindsided by the sea of red, white, and pink decorations.

Pink and red streamers ran a garland along the roof’s edge, heart-shaped red balloons were tied to the picnic tables by the pool, and there were lovely white doilies with what looked like pink candy hearts in the middle on each of the doors. Even the low hedges separating one room from the next had sprouted roses. It was like stepping into a scene from a romantic film. All it was missing was the shot panning over to the one who’d set it all up for their beloved to find.

Of course, if he wasn’t going to oblige, that was Crowley’s cue to knock on Balthazar’s door. There was no way he’d set it all up himself, but it was just like Balthazar to dream up such things for their wish-fulfilling motel to provide. His beau wasn’t usually such a romantic, but he must have noticed that Crowley was. So thoughtful.

The candy heart in the middle of the white doily was a sticker. The one on Balthazar’s door read “KISS ME”. Now that was more like him. Given an entire selection of romantic words and phrases, the guy chose a direct request. While Crowley might have preferred to see the more traditional “TRUE LOVE” or “BE MINE”, he certainly wasn’t going to complain about such an invitation.

Balthazar opened the door at the first knock, but any thought of teasing him for his eagerness was driven out of Crowley’s head at the sight of his angel. Of course Balthazar wore whatever was provided for him, just like Crowley, though Balthazar liked to mix and match. He’d obviously been given a selection similar to that offered to Crowley, because he wore a white suit jacket over a sparkly pink v-neck shirt, white leather shoes, and red skinny jeans that hugged his body like a second skin. A red tie hung loose around his neck, and Crowley’s fingers itched to fix it.

Balthazar took one look at Crowley and his eyes widened. “If you engineered this holiday solely as an excuse to wear that suit, then I must say, well done.”

Though Crowley fully intended to return the compliment — that jacket with those jeans did a phenomenal job of showing off Balthazar’s assets — the meaning of Balthazar’s words sank in. “Wait. You mean it really wasn’t you?”

Blinking, Balthazar frowned. “That rather changes matters then, doesn’t it?”

Didn’t it just. “If you didn’t set this all up, and I didn’t…”

“And I think we can reasonably assume the mindless sex fiends down the row had nothing to do with it,” Balthazar interjected.

Crowley wasn’t so certain about that, but for the moment he could let it slide. “...then I suppose we need to go see what your brother knows.”

“Do you really think so?” Balthazar pointedly looked Crowley up and down before continuing. “I can think of a dozen different things I’d rather do than talk to my wet blanket of a brother, several involving the bottle of champagne that appeared in my room while I slept.”

Crowley sighed. “Blame the centuries of demon-induced paranoia if you must, but if someone’s meddling in our love lives, I, for one, need to know what they hope to achieve. I don’t know if you’ve thought this through. Personally, I hope it was your brother who wished all this, for whatever reason, because the alternative is disturbing.”

“You may have a point. Alright, we can go see what Gadreel knows, on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“Stay for tea first. I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be properly caffeinated before attempting to converse with the motel monk. Besides which, I’d very much like to kiss you where no one can see us.”

When he put it like that, it was impossible to refuse.

*

Whether Balthazar was romantically-minded or not, he seemed to have no problem embracing the holiday. After fortifying themselves with tea — and enthusiastically snogging while waiting for it — they adjusted their clothing and made their way to the lobby. Crowley practically itched with the desire to hold Balthazar’s hand, but someone had engineered a situation to encourage romance, and there was no way he was going to give the meddler the public show they wanted.

If the motel grounds were festive, the lobby was so much more. The hanging baskets of roses were actually rather lovely, and the red curtains with white polka dot hearts and red velvet upholstered chairs were a definite improvement over the old dingy motel lobby, but the pink shag carpet was definitely taking things too far. The inventor of polyester shag carpet was an honoured guest in Hell, consultant to the torturers.

Notably, the lobby was missing its usual morning inhabitant. The chair, where Gadreel normally sat with his ancient newspaper and cup of whatever, was empty.

Balthazar shook his head. “I’m all for indulgence but the shag carpet is a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Yet another in the long list of reasons why we’re perfect for one another,” Crowley replied, studiously ignoring the desk clerk for the moment. “Unfortunately, it seems our bird has flown the coop.”

“What now then? Is it even worth talking to our host? I, for one, would rather not piss off the only one standing between us and oblivion.”

It was a solid point, and one Crowley had considered as well, but it did limit their options. While sorting through ideas, his eyes landed on the coffee station and his brain screeched to a halt. “Balth, darling, look. I’ll grant, it might be tainted by virtue of existing in this utterly mediocre realm, but is that or is it not an actual, honest-to-someone milk frother on that espresso machine?”

“I must admit, my time on earth was limited, thus my exposure to human beverages was limited to those assembled and blended by professionals, but I will say, that definitely looks fancier than our usual slop dispenser.” Balthazar poked and prodded at the machine as he spoke, presumably trying to sort out how it worked.

By the time they left the lobby, they each had a frothy latte and whole trays of baked goods, which Crowley was firmly determined not to allow to sway his opinion of the holiday. It was all a lovely idea, but the motivations of whoever orchestrated it were highly suspect, and he hated the thought of someone meddling with his love life. Not that it hadn’t happened already. 

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense as another of the clerk’s bizarre plots. After all, he’d already done that thing with the _Crom Pregnancy Hospital_ tv show and book series, and that was all a clear matchmaking ploy. But why? If they were already together, why would the clerk tip his hand like this? And for that matter, why did he even care who was paired off? Dark thoughts swirled in his head and the sky above eagerly replicated them in cloud form.

“Hello, brother,” said Balthazar, interrupting his thoughts. “How are you on this loverly day?” 

Apparently they’d found Gadreel without Crowley even noticing, which was more than a little alarming. Normally, he was much more aware of what was going on around him. All the more reason to get to the bottom of the whole business.

Gadreel sat on the ground behind an unoccupied block of rooms, mug in hand and a decorated sugar cookie atop his newspaper. “I was on the path to a reasonably good day until you decided to track me down. Pray tell, what motivated you to make that choice?”

Biting back his frustration, Crowley adopted the politest tone he could manage. “Look, all we want is for you to tell us what you know about this holiday, then we’ll leave you alone. Like, for example, do you know whose idea this was?”

“Interesting,” replied Gadreel, his brow creased in thought. “Your fellow ex-demon asked my opinions earlier, and went so far as to profess a hatred for Cupids Day, so I had assumed it was a result of one of you two. This, however, clears up a question I had about that World Honeybee Day we had some time ago.”

The fact that neither Gadreel nor Meg — and presumably not Tirzah — were to blame for the day’s events merely confirmed what Crowley already suspected but didn’t want to believe. But World Honeybee Day? “What do you mean by th— oh. Oh no.”

“What?” asked Balthazar. “What could this possibly have to do with— Oh dear.”

Gadreel followed their reactions and shook his head. “I presume you have come to a similar conclusion.”

“Well, yes and no,” said Balthazar. “Whilst I grasp the notion that the same person has orchestrated both events, what I don’t understand was what led you there.”

Given time, he probably would have gotten there on his own — frankly, Crowley was shocked that Gadreel had beaten them both to the point — but explaining something was a pleasure Crowley had been denied of late. “It all comes down to the birds. No one can see Gadreel’s birds but him. I don’t know if anyone else saw our bees, but they definitely saw the banner, and everyone is painfully aware of today’s theme, so it stands to reason—”

“Gadreel’s birds were his own wish fulfillment, but the bees and this nonsense were the result of our own personal higher power meddling,” said Balthazar.

“Precisely.” Crowley took a sip of his latte. Typical of nearly everything else in his afterlife, it was mediocre coffee sweetened with an artificial-tasting syrup and topped with nearly flavourless milk foam. Still, it was easily better than the usual slop. “What I want to know is why? We’re already together, so why should he tip his hand now with such blatant manipulation when he could simply sit back and wait? Is he so eager to watch what we’d do with our dangly bits?”

With an exasperated sigh, Gadreel set down his mug. “Which brings us to the part of the conversation in which I have no desire to participate. If I have answered your questions to your satisfaction, I would kindly ask you to take your talk of mating rituals elsewhere, preferably out of earshot.”

“Thank you, Gadreel,” said Balthazar. “As always, a pleasure.”

“I wish I could say the same,” replied Gadreel.

For once, Crowley was too preoccupied to bother with a witty rejoinder. Why was the immortal caretaker of his afterlife meddling with his love life? Would there be a consequence for acting counter to divine wishes?

Balthazar left, and once again, he followed, though he hadn’t the slightest notion where he was being led. Their entire afterlife was the motel lot, so it wasn’t like there were a lot of options, but short of hassling Meg for being a Lucifer fangirl, he didn’t know what to do next. Wherever they were going, he hoped there was somewhere to put down his tray of tarts.

“Where” turned out to be the motel’s front lawn, right outside the lobby. The hedges outside the windows would do nothing to block them from view. Like the little shit he was, Balthazar spread his arms wide — latte in one hand, tray of cream puffs in the other — and grinned. “Harken unto me, for I hath a plan.”

That perfect mix of human and divine had never failed to utterly captivate Crowley. Beyond the blasphemous appeal, he’d always been a sucker for someone who thumbed their nose at authority. Despite his steadily worsening mood, he was intrigued. “And what, pray tell, might that be?”

“It’s really quite simple.” Setting his latte and the tray of cream puffs on the ground, Balthazar took off his jacket and spread it on the grass as he spoke. “You and I, here, enjoy the dubious delights this holiday has offered unto us, in clear view of our meddling deity. Either he sees that no meddling is necessary, or he sees that his interference isn’t going to push us to do more than we’re ready for. In either case, we enjoy ourselves while sending a clear ‘bugger off’ to our fashion-challenged almighty.”

Still, Crowley hesitated. “You’re not concerned about delivering a mental middle finger from his own front lawn?”

Balthazar smirked and sat on his jacket. “Given what you’ve told me about what happened after I died, I’ve been here for years, and I wasn’t this realm’s first tenant. He’s probably more bored than we are. I feel confident in saying we’re the best source of entertainment he’s got, and honestly, the likelihood of us hitting it off like we did was like catching lightning in a bottle. I don’t see it happening again with anyone else.”

The sexy bastard had a point. Perhaps more importantly, removing his jacket had bared Balthazar’s forearms, which led Crowley’s brain down the path of mentally removing more clothing. Even if he’d never seen underneath those clothes, he had a wonderful imagination.

The short grass looked like it could use some water. Unfortunately for the grass, the sky was already clearing. Crowley set his refreshments on the ground, removed his own jacket and spread it on the grass beside Balthazar. Sitting with his shoulder pressed snug against Balthazar’s felt simultaneously like giving in to divine whim and somehow also like flipping off the cosmos.

He didn’t know how long they sat like that, just enjoying each other’s company, but it was Balthazar who broke the silence. “Before you arrived, I was contemplating a solo drive into oblivion. You’re why I’m still here.”

Of all the things Crowley had thought to himself, that was the one he’d least expected to hear echoed back to him. “If it weren’t for you, I have no doubt I’d have chosen the Empty long ago. I bloody hate that I needed to say it out loud. This place would be nothing without you.”

At those words, Balthazar turned to stare at him, brow creased in confusion. His mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before managing, “Is this…love?”

Was it? Crowley had never been loved before, so he couldn’t truly say for sure. Throughout the entirety of his existence he’d wished for someone to love him — had, in fact, allowed that desire to shape his whole second life as a demon — but he was fairly certain he knew what it felt like to love another. “I can’t tell you what you feel. That’s something only you can say for certain, but if we’re being honest, I died for love, and no one gave a damn. I’m bloody terrified of what I’m feeling right now, because either we’re being manipulated into artificial feelings, or I’m yet again hopelessly in love and completely vulnerable because of it. In a way, it’s worse than before, because at least then everything was muted by the insulating cushion of demonic scarring on my mangled soul. Now, I feel everything in technicolour brilliance, and it’s overwhelming.”

Balthazar smiled, softly wry. “If it helps, I never felt much of anything before this place started working its mojo. Oh, I suppose I had feelings, sure, but never more than a wisp of something easily ignored. Now it’s like I’m under a spell. When we’re together, my mind is shrouded in a fog of bliss, and it’s practically impossible to think of anything else, but there’s an ache in my chest whenever we’re apart, so I’m barely functional in either case.”

Would wonders never cease? Crowley didn’t think it was possible to love him more until he heard those words. “Oh yes, that’s love, and it is absolutely reciprocated, you gooey disaster.”

Eyes wide, Balthazar grinned and shook his head. “I’ll be damned. I suppose this explains why there’s a million and one love songs. Poor souls, trying to make sense of the inexplicable.”

Thinking back to the song on his alarm clock earlier that morning, Crowley chuckled. “I was concerned the clerk might’ve been controlling everything about this place, but now that you mention it, I can’t help but wonder if some subconscious part of me has been setting and choosing the songs for my morning alarm.” When Balthazar gave him a questioning look, he continued. “I woke up this morning to a song about unrequited love. The singer was most concerned that he was handing his heart to one who didn’t value it. I suppose, deep down, I thought there was no way you could feel as strongly as I did, being an angel, and that I’d eventually get my heart broken.”

“And here I thought I was the only one. I thought surely a demon couldn’t possibly have feelings as deep as mine, and that I was undoubtedly going to get hurt, but hey, new experiences are the game we’re playing. I figured if you got bored of me, I could wallow in my sorrows for awhile before letting the Empty take it all away.”

Just the thought of Balthazar wallowing in misery made Crowley’s heart hurt. “Y’know what? No. We’re not doing that.” Taking a chocolate tart from the tray beside him, he held it up until Balthazar took a bite. “You’re going to stop talking such nonsense so we can both stuff ourselves silly on these goodies."

“Mmm,” replied Balthazar, his mouth full. “Mhm.” 

While still chewing, Balthazar reached behind him, picked up a cream puff, and tapped it against Crowley’s mouth. Without really thinking about it, Crowley opened his mouth and took a bite. The flavours burst over his tongue like nothing he’d ever tasted. Tender and airy choux pastry played host to a rich vanilla cream in the perfect combination of textures. When he was mortal, he’d never had anything near as good, and when he was a demon, he was incapable of that sort of joy. Shameless, he licked the other half of the cream puff from Balthazar’s fingers.

Thus encouraged, Balthazar reached past him for a tart, but Crowley intercepted him with a kiss. Chocolate and vanilla mingled on their tongues, evoking an entirely different sensation. Their already small world narrowed to the two of them and each point of contact between. Which, of course, was why they never saw it coming.

The first cupcake hit the side of Crowley’s face, leaving a smear of frosting and crumbs in his beard. The second hit Balthazar’s shoulder a fraction of a second later. By the time Crowley followed the arc of trajectory back to its source, another cupcake was on its way. He almost caught it, frosting smearing his fingertips his only reward.

Standing in the motel lobby’s doorway, Tirzah held a tray of cupcakes in one hand. “For the rest, I suggest we aim for their torsos. They present the largest targets.”

In response, Meg smirked and threw another cupcake. Sitting on the ground without his demonic powers, Crowley could only hope to deflect the projectile with his hands, but still he tried to catch it. Buttercream frosting smeared his hands and the cake crumbled. All the same, Meg practically cackled with delight.

Balthazar took a different approach. Making no attempt to avoid the cupcake Tirzah threw at him, he again leaned past Crowley to reach for the tray of tarts. With no kiss to stop him, he snatched up the tray and launched return fire.

The sparkly sequin heart on Meg’s shirt, it turned out, made an excellent bullseye. Chocolate custard and chunks of pastry splattered both instigators, but most of it ended up squarely on Meg’s torso. For half a second it felt like the passage of time in their whole tiny afterlife slowed to a crawl. Tirzah gasped, Meg looked down at her shirt and snarled, Crowley and Balthazar chuckled.

A glob of chocolate filling slid to the ground, shattering the frozen moment with a plop. Meg threw another cupcake with renewed ferocity. Crowley didn’t react fast enough, only realizing he should try to stop it when it was about to hit him. The cupcake hit him square in the chest, getting cake and frosting all over his suit.

“That’s _it._ ” Crowley scraped frosting out of his beard as he got to his feet. “Damn you, I _liked_ this suit.”

Ignoring the cupcake Tirzah threw at him, Crowley ran straight for the pair of them, frosting-covered hands as his only weapons. Meg tried one more shot, which he deflected one-handed.

“Run for it!” Meg shouted, her feet following her own instructions.

Obediently, Tirzah followed suit, the pair of them running around towards the rooms. Beyond smearing them with frosting, Crowley had no real plan, but it was satisfying to see them flee. Behind him, he could hear Balthazar doing something, which was somewhat reassuring. Really, it was enough to know he was saving Balthazar from any further mishap.

It all happened so fast. One moment he had the miscreants trapped between him and the fence around the pool. Before he knew it, Meg vaulted the fence, slipped, and fell in the water. It was definitely an accident, because no one willingly swam in the motel pool more than once.

Without hesitation, Tirzah dropped the tray of cupcakes and dove in after her. Meg came up spluttering indignantly before Tirzah had even cleared the fence, but that didn’t stop what was either a rescue or solidarity. Crowley didn’t care which it was, as long as it kept them both out of his hair. He left them floating in a tangle of Tirzah’s frilly red dress, satisfied they wouldn’t be able to extract themselves immediately.

Balthazar, seeing the situation defused, slowed to an easy walk. He held up the tray in his hands. “I thought we might need ammunition, so I dumped the cream puffs on the tray of tarts. Though I suppose they’re no longer necessary.”

Shaking some of the frosting off his hands, Crowley grinned. “I don’t know about that. I think I’d like to try a cream puff topped chocolate tart.”

“Yeah?” Balthazar gave a coy smile in return. “Well I think I’d like to try buttercream frosted Crowley first.”

There was no way Crowley was going to argue with that. His heart raced at the prospect of Balthazar licking frosting off literally any part of him. No matter how far they did or didn’t take things, there was nothing he’d rather do.

Glancing at the dropped cupcakes, he spotted one which had miraculously stayed on the tray. Snatching it up, he smirked at Meg and Tirzah, still swimming through a sea of fabric. “It’s been lovely, but I have a date. Enjoy your swim.”

Ignoring Meg’s cursing and Tirzah’s confused questions, Crowley set the cupcake on Balthazar’s tray. “Just in case we need more. I think we’ll need to use your room though. My key is my pocket, and I think our plans might change if you were to retrieve it.”

Balthazar’s salacious grin sent a shiver of delight up Crowley’s spine. He’d done everything he could possibly think of when he was a demon, but none of it with someone who loved him. Apparently it made a significant difference.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic for longer than I care to admit, and I kept getting pulled away from it, so when it happened to fit [this month's theme for Coldest Hits](https://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/639400427233935360/february-2021-prompt-shipping-forecast-posting), it felt like it was meant to be. It's been a full year since I posted Meg and Tirzah's side of this, but hey, inadvertently good timing.
> 
> Despite being for Coldest Hits, I welcome all comments and kudos. These idiots hold a special place in my heart.
> 
> For the record, Meg and Tirzah end up stripping naked in the pool and celebrating the holiday with enthusiasm, so Crowley and Balthazar should be glad they left.


End file.
